“Keep up, Alien Scissorhands.” She gestures at the scars on my arms as if this explains her words. “Anyway, all I’m saying is we’re in this boat together. We can either sink or swim. I’ve always been afraid of drowning. So, this whole mating gig? It’s our oar. We can take turns and do our part. Coast along.”
She makes an exaggerated effort to bob her nog up and down.
I mimic her action because her expectant eyes plead for me to.
“Whew!” she cries out. “I was sure you were going to turn me down, and I’d have to take that Sayer guy. He was nice—”
A loud growl rattles in my chest, stopping her words.
“Oh, you’ll do, honey,” she says, flashing me another one of her brilliant, sunny smiles. “You have that intimidation thing down pat. We can look out for each other. I’ll make sure they leave you alone about this whole mating business, and you can make sure no one tries to mate with me.”
“If they touch you, I will rip their limbs from their bodies,” I snarl, overcome with a fierce need to protect this babbling alien.
“Okay, Rambo. You’re getting a little too into the part. We’re just going to act. Understand?”
I think back to the time Hadrian made me “act” as though I were Breccan and he was Aria. To please Aria for the commander. Aria calls it a movie. I know how to “act.”
“I understand,” I say slowly. “We will not physically mate.” I refuse to look at the manuals explaining how mating is performed. The idea of someone touching me without my minnasuit between us makes my skin itch. Absently, I claw at my forearm.
“Right,” she agrees. “We just tell them we do.” Her eyes drop to where I’m scratching my arm, and she stops me with a gentle touch. “We’ll protect each other.”
“I don’t need protecting,” I growl.
Her smile falls and her brows bunch together. I don’t like when her eyes look sad. “I think you do. Your monsters are just different than mine.”
What monsters does she possess?
The door opens, and Hadrian pokes his nog in. “Commander says—rogshite!” His eyes roam over my mate and hunger gleams in them. My growl of warning is fierce as I step in front of her, shielding her from his stare.
“Mine,” I snarl.
His features fall, and he looks as though he might drop to the floor kicking and screaming like he used to do when he was a little mortling. Instead, he straightens his back. “I’m Hadrian. You must be Draven’s mate,” he addresses her, his voice dry. “Everyone is visiting the mortling. Come on. They’re expecting you.”
He stalks off, clearly envious over the fact that Molly is my mate. Pride thumps inside my chest. She’s a mate in name only. It brings me great relief that I won’t be expected to do more.
“Come,” I bark out to my mate.
She grabs my bicep, stopping me. “I-I can’t.”
Turning, I look at her over my shoulder. Her brown eyes are watery as though they may leak at any moment. My mouth waters. Breccan wrote in explicit details in the alien manual about the sweet taste of their tears. It makes me curious.
“I, uh, I don’t want to see it,” she mutters. “Can’t we like go hang out at your place? Take a nap? Shoot the breeze? Count freaking stars for all I care?”
“You want to go to The Tower?”
She nods rapidly. “Sure. Take me there.”
Indecision wars within me. As much as that idea intrigues me, I refrain from doing just that. Hadrian was sent by my commander to take me to view the mortling. So, view it we will.
“Not now,” I bite out. I storm out of the room, and the sound of her bare feet slapping the floors behind me is the only indication she’s following. I stride through the facility on a hunt for Breccan and Aria. We follow the sounds of excited voices until we are at the doorway of Breccan’s chambers.
“Draven is here,” Hadrian says from within the chambers.
Breccan calls for me. But as I enter, I realize my alien remains rooted to the floor just outside of the room. I cock my nog in confusion.
“Come, mate.”
She shakes her head, backing up farther into the hallway. “I’m good right here.”
“The commander wants to look at your face,” I tell her. “And we are to see the mortling.”
Her face pales, and she swallows. “Please don’t make me.”
Make her?
The panic in her brown eyes reminds me of my own when I’m trapped in a room full of morts. Does she share this same fear as me? I step closer to her and peer down at her. “I will never make you do anything that hurts you.”
She tilts her head up bravely. “That will hurt me.”
This, I understand.
“Stay, mate,” I instruct.